


The Finer Points of Communication

by ShitpostingfromtheBarricade



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Courfeyrac POV, Don't copy to another site, Enjolras POV, Get-Together Fic, Grantaire pov, I wouldn't quite put it into M territory, M/M, borderline text-fic, but be aware, but really half of Bahorel's lines are quotes, courfeyrac is Doing His Best, enjolras is heartbreakingly eager, enjolras needs to learn how to communicate, it's more like t+ now, loosely based on something that happened to a friend, mention of ruptured airways, update:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2020-03-07 05:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18866524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade/pseuds/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade
Summary: Enjolras begins an unexpectedly persistent conversation with Grantaire.Warnings:slightly explicit allusions to sexual content





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [PieceOfCait](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PieceOfCait/pseuds/PieceOfCait) who was and remains an absolute gem. <3

Grantaire has already scanned the fob to get into his building when he pulls out his phone. The meeting had run late tonight, and he’d stayed behind what became an additional hour helping Feuilly put up chairs and making sure that they didn’t leave too much of a mess for Musichetta to deal with after. The bright numbers on the screen read that it’s 11:23, much later than he’d told Bahorel he’d be home by. He has 10 missed texts, apparently, and as he pushes open the door he begins thumbing through them.

Three from his boss about a shift change tomorrow, an inspirational quote buried under what appears to be hundreds of emojis from Jehan, a youtube link from Éponine that Grantaire is quite confident was sent by Gavroche, two texts from Joly checking that he got home all right, one from Feuilly confirming that he made it home safely, a reminder from Bahorel that dinner’s in the fridge, and…

 

[22:13] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** thnx 4 helping w the chairs 2nite

 

Grantaire raises his eyebrows at the last text before tucking the phone back into his pocket. He’ll worry about answering those when he’s in the comfort of his apartment and can no longer see his breath.

He lets himself in, calling to Bahorel that he’s in as he pushes the door open. It turns out to be an unnecessary exercise: the man is sprawled across their sofa in his black-rimmed glasses under a duck-patterned fleece blanket with a knit shawl spread over his shoulders. He nods to Grantaire, wordlessly continuing his consumption of Cup Noodles.

“I thought there was dinner in the fridge?” Grantaire says, pulling off his jacket and hanging it on a hook.

“Yeah, for _you._ Some of us actually leave when the meeting ends instead of ogling blonds and showing off how helpful we can be when we’re not being absolute dickheads.”

“So you ate already,” Grantaire guesses, ignoring the remark and stepping out of his worn sneakers.

“I sure as hell wasn’t waiting ‘til 11:30,” Bahorel responds, eyes glued to the tv screen and nodding along with the show.

He shrugs, digging his phone from the coat pocket and turning in to the kitchen. He pulls out the covered plate, blindly pushing it into the microwave and setting the timer for two minutes.

First things first: he texts Joly, Feuilly, and Combeferre that he got home safely. Gavroche’s link gets saved to watch later, the changes are confirmed with his boss, and Jehan receives a meme for their trouble, leaving him to puzzle over how to respond to Enjolras.

They’ve been getting along better lately: since coming to terms with the fact that ever being with Enjolras is more of a concept to theorize about than an actual possibility, Grantaire’s life finally feels like it has room for him to _think_ again, to breathe and feel and do literally anything besides pining over the leader of their group. 

Interestingly, in the face of this realization and the decline of his flagrant peacocking, his and Enjolras’s relationship has improved, to the point where some debates that Grantaire instigates in meetings find themselves continued over text in the hours to follow. Tonight, however, is the first time following a meeting that Enjolras’s text has nothing to do with the topic. _We did pretty much argue immigration into the ground,_ he reasons.

He burns most of his digits transferring the plate to the table before finally uncovering the food. He’s definitely overheated most of the meal, though the mashed potatoes should be just about perfect in a minute or two. In any case, it gives Grantaire a minute to finally text the fearless leader back.

 

[23:34] **You:** np

 

Masterful.

He expects that to be the end of it, but no sooner does he move to open an app game does he receive another text.

 

[23:35] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** where r u now

 

He’s never checked in with the man before, but he’s sure that Combeferre and Enjolras are already holed up in their respective rooms, and Grantaire definitely left later tonight than most weeks.

 

[23:35] **You:** Just got back. 

 

He realizes that he hasn’t brought any utensils to the table and goes to rectify the situation, leaving the phone behind on the table. When he returns, his phone is lit up with three new texts.

 

[23:36] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** so late?  
[23:36] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** did sumthing happen  
[23:37] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** r u alone

 

Grantaire smiles to himself., spearing a spoon in the mashed potatoes and resting his fork next to the plate.

 

[23:39] **You:** Got caught up helping Muse s’all  
[23:39] **You:** Baz is here, no worries

 

The phone vibrates on the table not a minute later, and Grantaire resolves that he’s going to finish his green beans or scald his mouth trying before he answers again.

 

[23:41] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** i see  
[23:41] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** im in bed 

 

Grantaire squints at his phone before responding.

 

[23:44] **You:** Yeah, it’s pretty late, I guess I should be following your lead lol

 

He has no intentions of doing so: he’s on evening shift tomorrow, which leaves all night for working on commissions with impending deadlines. Grantaire eyes the rest of the contents of his plate. Microwaving the salad was a mistake, but even overcooked fettuccine alfredo still has promise. He stands to fetch a glass of water, abandoning his phone once more to vibrate uselessly on the tabletop.

On return, he gives the latest texts a preliminary glance. He sits down, eyebrows furrowing as he takes a careful sip of water.

 

[23:45] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** i dont think im going 2 sleep yet  
[23:45] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** not tired

 

Grantaire shrugs, sighing.

 

[23:46] **You:** Well, being in bed is always a good start

 

The response is in before he even puts his phone down.

 

[23:46] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** r u in bed

 

Grantaire glances guiltily around the room. Should he lie and pretend to be a responsible adult? There’s no real reason to, and he’s trying to care less what Enjolras thinks of him anyway.

 

[23:47] **You:** Nah, still eating dinner  
[23:48] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** omg im so sorry  
[23:48] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** i didnt realize  
[23:48] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** pls focus on eating

 

Grantaire stifles a laugh, putting his phone down for now. The texts seem to have stopped for the time being, and he takes the opportunity to revel in the mediocrity of his microwave-related mistakes.

All told, the pasta really could be much worse. He scrapes the unfortunate remains of his salad into the trash before cleaning his dishes and placing them in the drying rack. Bahorel is still watching the tv, slack-jawed and all but dead to the world. 

“Hey, Bahorel, I’m turning in for the night.”

The man makes an affirming sound, whether he realizes it or not, and Grantaire grabs his phone and heads into his room.

 

[23:55] **You:** Just finished  
[23:55] **You:** Is there a time range after which it stops being dinner?  
[23:56] **You:** It feels like there should be some sort of in-between for that space between “dinner” and “breakfast”  
[23:56] **You:** Brinner?  
[23:56] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** i think ur meant 2 sleep during that time  
[23:57] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** so r u in ur room  
[23:57] **You:** Not altogether untrue, though certainly classist propaganda  
[23:58] **You:** lol yeah  
[23:58] **You:** Probably gonna be up for a while tho, have some things to do yet

 

It doesn’t do to think about why Enjolras seems to have so many questions about his personal status tonight. With another person, he might read into it, but this is Enjolras, one of the most straightforward people he’s ever met. No use getting himself twisted over nothing.

 

[23:59] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** what r u wearing 

 

Grantaire is so, so infinitely glad that he hadn’t been eating anything. He has no clue how Courfeyrac could have been so remiss in educating his closest friend of the implications of such a question, but the man will certainly be getting an earful the next time Grantaire sees him.

 

[00:01] **You:** Just my street clothes  
[00:01] **You:** Guess I should be putting on pjs soon

 

There. Perfectly innocuous, not sexual at all. Entirely appropriate for two friends such as they. In fact, he decides to do as much now: he’ll probably fall asleep over his drawing pad again, and it’ll be nice not to have to worry about waking up in the middle of the night to find himself still wearing jeans. He shucks the fabric prison in question, searching the growing mountain of sleep clothing on his desk chair for a particular soft t-shirt that he’s decided he must wear tonight. He eyes his pajama pants warily before deciding against them. Boxers will suffice.

 

[00:02] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** i just go w out

 

Grantaire stares at the screen. Surely, _surely_ , he is misreading something. Something has been misinterpreted. In fact, he _knows_ it must be, because he has personally seen Enjolras Pajamas, courtesy of an ill-timed Prank War back when the triumvirate were only slightly more dependent on one another than they are now.

 

[00:04] **You:** Cool beans  
[00:04] **You:** I’m in my pjs now  
[00:05] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** pic?

 

There’s a reason. An explanation. Something that Grantaire cannot fathom right now, but it’s...it’s there. 

Grantaire pulls the neglected pajama pants from their place over the back of the desk chair and steps into them. They’re soft and warm, and the heat hasn’t been circulating in the apartment well anyway. This is fine. He flips on his selfie camera and holds it aloft, making the goofiest face he can manage and double-checking afterward that he hasn’t missed any unduly suggestive details. 

Part of him wants to retake the photo in a more flattering light, or maybe with a flash of bicep, or to try to tame his hair even slightly, but the bigger and more logical part of him reminds himself that it won’t come to anything and not to overthink it. He sends the picture and turns back to his drawing pad, pulling up something due next week that he’s excited to play with.

 

[00:07] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** ur pants  
[00:07] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** nike?  
[00:09] **You:** Good eye, yeah  
[00:10] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** nike is terrible to their employees nd not sustainable at all  
[00:10] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** u shouldnt wear their stuff  
[00:12] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** take them off

 

The sound emitted from Grantaire’s throat is one he’s not sure his body has ever made in his life.

 

[00:14] **You:** They’re hand-me-downs, it’s a sunk cost  
[00:15] **You:** Besides, I only wear them to bed, so they don’t even get the free advertising

 

Maybe he should call it a night. He _should_ call it a night. If tonight’s texts are anything to go by, he might actually die before the the sun is in the sky.

On the other hand, this is Enjolras being friendly. With Grantaire. And yes, he has taken active steps to assure that his life no longer obsessively revolves around the man, but he may as well bask in the attention while he can. 

They can joke. He can do this. No big deal. They’re friends now.

 

[00:16] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** what would u do if i was there rn

 

For fuck’s sake.

 

[00:17] **You:** Well I’m working on a commission atm  
[00:17] **You:** So probably keep doing that

 

He shouldn’t ask. He shouldn’t ask. _He shouldn’t ask._

 

[00:18] **You:** Wbu haha

 

He is weak.

 

[00:19] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** its pretty cold here so prob try to find some way 2 get warm

 

_7 February 2019. Just after midnight. Cause of death: everything bad he’s ever done in his life catching up to him all at once._

 

[00:21] **You:** We have lots of blankets here  
[00:21] **You:** Alternatively, you could put on pajamas ;)

 

Friends winky-face at each other, right? Yes. They do. He sends winky-faces to all of his friends all the time. Not suggestive or provocative.

 

[00:22] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** i actually find that id rather not ;) 

 

Nope. No, this was a mistake. Mistakes were made. _Enjolras_ is not allowed to do this to him. He’s been _trying._

Maybe this is atonement? All of the terrible things he’s done in this life, this is just some really fucked-up test invented by a seriously dick-ish god as an opportunity to cast off his mistakes and begin his life afresh, free of sin.

It’s a stretch, an absolutely unbelievable stretch, but telling himself that there is some higher reason for it is the only thing keeping his from turning off his phone for the night and possibly for forever and trashing the entire “befriending Enjolras” undertaking as a concept.

 

[00:24] **You:** Well I mean, that’s all I’ve got  
[00:25] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** i might have another idea

 

He stares at the screen, pushing down panic. 

“Bahorel!”

There’s no response, and he pushes himself out of bed and into the living room where Bahorel still sits unblinkingly. Grantaire pushes his shoulder. 

“Bahorel, I need a second opinion on a very serious matter.”

He watches the man blink several times, leaning forward to pause the show before turning to Grantaire. “What’s up?”

“I have a friend.”

“Present and accounted for.”

“Multiple friends.”

“Improbable, but continue.”

Despite the stress of the night, Grantaire finds himself grinning. “I just. I need you to tell me if these texts sound… _friendly._ Like. For normal people who are friends.”

Bahorel gives him an unimpressed raise of his eyebrows but nods. “Go on, then.”

It feels wrong to be sharing private texts with a third party, and even worse trying to get through them out loud, but he needs to know that he isn’t going crazy. “So he starts by asking if I’m alone.”

“I’m getting stalker-murdery vibes so far, but continue.”

“I said no, I’m with you. Then he tells me he’s in bed, but he’s not tired.”

“Pretty PG.”

“Right? So then he asks if _I’m_ in bed, and I tell him I’m eating dinner. Because I was.”

Bahorel’s making a face now. “How did he react?”

“He apologized for interrupting and left me be until I texted him back.”

“And what did you text him?”

“The merits of brinner.”

“Classic.” Bahorel looks at him expectantly. “And then? I presume that if it ended with brinner you wouldn’t have asked for my expert opinion.”

Grantaire snorts, the ball of panic in his stomach slowly unwinding. Saying it aloud to another person suddenly makes it all feel less significant. “So then he asked what I was wearing, which was what I wore earlier, and I told him I was gonna change into my pajamas. To which he responds that he doesn’t wear any.”

At this, Bahorel’s expression finally shifts to suspicious interest. “Do I—do we—”

Grantaire cuts off the question before he can incriminate himself with his nonanswer. “So I tell him I’ve changed into my pajamas, and he asks for a picture? So like, I obviously send the most cheeseball selfie I can manage—”

“R, do you want to sleep with this guy?”

“—and he tells me to take off my pajama pants for—for ethical reasons?”

Realization lights in Bahorel’s eyes. “This is someone I know. Someone in our friend group.”

Grantaire feels his neck going red and pushes on through the burn. “And then he asked what I’d do if he was here and told me he was cold.”

“Didn’t he say he was naked?”

“Right, and I told him he should just get dressed. And he said—”

“That he could think of other ways to stay warm?” Bahorel guesses.

Grantaire nods, vision focused on some middle distance.

“Do you want to sext with this guy?”

Grantaire rubs a hand over his face. “No? Yes? I don’t—fuck, Baz, I don’t _know_.”

The man’s jaw drops. “ _Enj._ It’s _Enjolras._ ”

Grantaire swallows hard, not meeting his friend’s eye.

“The saucy minx,” Bahorel says, shaking his head. “Oof, that’s a hard one.”

He looks over at his friend, wordlessly holding up his hands in silent exclamation.

“Right. Yeah. Well, it certainly _sounds_ flirty. I guess I always assumed Enj got off to, like, audiobooks of The Social Contract or whatever.” 

Grantaire throws up his hands. “Exactly! I’m in over my head here! I have _no clue_ what’s happening. And anyway, isn’t he demi?”

Bahorel’s eyebrows raise as he nods. “Yeah, yeah. Shit, I’d forgotten about that.” He hand reached up to tug at his topknot. “Shit. Yeah, I dunno what to tell ya.”

Grantaire sighs. “It’s fine. Even just...basic confirmation that I’m not just inventing this…helps.”

“Yeah, I feel ya.”

The phone audibly vibrates in his hand, and Grantaire groans.

A smirk creeps to Bahorel’s face. “You gonna take that, or...I can make myself scarce if you need some privacy?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Grantaire grins. He looks at the dark phone screen, wondering what fresh hell awaits him now. Surely, the only way things can escalate from here is a clear statement of intent. This is _Enjolras_ , after all: even if he wasn’t demi, he’s still obsessed with clear and proper communication. There’s _no way_ he’d just spring _sexting_ on a friend out of the blue.

He looks at the text preview. “It’s a photo.”

Bahorel’s face lights up. 

“No.”

“R—”

“ _No._ No, no, no. No. This is—no. This is _not_ —”

“If it’s a dick pic, you are contractually obligated to show me.”

Grantaire sends him a bewildered look. _”Why?”_

Bahorel shrugs. “I’ve always been curious.”

He shakes his head. “One, it isn’t. B, _no_. And four, not in this lifetime.”

The man squints at him, mouth open as if prepared to say something before snapping shut. “Then open it here.”

Grantaire looks at his roommate in confusion. “What?”

“Open it here. If you’re right, you’ll be able to gloat, and if it’s that _sweet sweet Enjolras peen_ , I’ll be available for viewing.”

Grantaire pretends that he is not flushed scarlet at the suggestion and rolls his eyes. “Fine. Whatever.” He swipes in his passcode and opens his texts to reveal— 

_Oh._

“Peen! Show me the peen!”

“It’s not!” Grantaire insists.

“I don’t believe you.” Bahorel rises from the couch, an almighty kraken come for what’s rightfully his.

“I swear it’s not.” The phone screen is clutched against his shirt, and Grantaire finally feels some of the flush draining from his face. His fight-or-flight response is kicking in, panic and adrenaline rushing through his veins, and it is honestly major overkill for the situation.

(Except _is it?_ )

Bahorel narrows his eyes in evaluation. “All right,” he says, settling back into his spot and pulling the shawl back over him, “but if I ever learn otherwise, you owe me one binge-watch of any show of my choosing.”

Grantaire nods, pretending that he’s heard any of what Bahorel’s just said and working very hard to look calm as he enters his room, locking the door behind him.

He almost wishes it was a dick pic instead of… _this._ Enjolras’s head thrown back in ecstasy, full lower lip bitten, bare chest on display, and the way the lighting had caught the man’s hair? No, this is one thousand times more intimate than any random penis by itself, this is _Enjolras._

And it’s so clearly not meant for him.

He tries to ignore the shaking of his hands as he goes in to delete the photo and _Goddammit, he doesn’t care if it also deletes for the other person, he just needs it off of his phone_ now. Perhaps there will come a situation where he will care about the options and flexibility, but now is a matter of time.

 

[00:42] **You:** Haha I’m guessing that wasn’t for me?  
[00:42] **You:** lol  
[00:42] **You:** I deleted it from my phone no worries  
[00:43] **You:** Won’t tell anyone

 

He tosses his phone on his bed before crawling back to where he was working earlier. As soon as the stylus is in his hand, he knows he won’t be able to do anything until Enjolras gets back to him, tells him he’s forgiven and has done the right thing and assures him that the man knows Grantaire is trying _so fucking hard_ to respect him and his privacy.

He’s nearly resigned himself to a sleepless night when he hears a muffled vibration beside him. He scrambles to clutch at the phone, immediately opening the text.

 

[00:55] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** good night grantaire

 

Somehow, it doesn’t actually make him feel any better.

 

—-

 

Grantaire does fall asleep in the end. The adrenaline wore off shortly after receiving Enjolras’s response, leaving him too exhausted to run himself in circles over the implications of the final text.

He wakes up much earlier than he has any reason to: his shift begins at 5, and when his eyes open the sun is only barely in the sky. Upon confirming that the events of the previous night were not, indeed, an oddly bizarre and rather nightmarish invention of his own mind, he knows he will not be able to return to sleep.

He rereads the entire conversation three times before finally pulling up the keyboard. He types his message, thumb hovering over the Send button for several moments before hitting it with an impulsive tap.

 

[07:09] **You:** Can we talk about what happened last night?

 

The days of the week get away from him sometimes, but he’s surprised to receive a response under ten minutes later on a Sunday.

 

[07:16] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** ok  
[07:17] **You:** Anywhere you wanna meet?

 

It takes another several minutes for the text to come in, during which time Grantaire takes the opportunity to lay back and begin properly panicking.

 

[07:21] **probs wanks to The Social Contract:** the normal cafe? is 9 ok?  
[07:22] **You:** 9 is great, I’ll see you then

 

Grantaire spends another thirty minutes staring at the ceiling and imagining every possible way the meet-up can go wrong before finally forcing himself out of bed and into the shower.

 

—-

 

Enjolras is already there at 8:47, which is the least surprising part of any of this and gives Grantaire an odd surge of hope to see. It’s one thing in this whole situation that feels normal for them, and maybe it’s a sign of better things. He orders his coffee at the counter and is assured that it will be brought out to him when its finished.

The man doesn’t seem to have noticed Grantaire yet. He’s selected a window seat at a table for two and appears visibly agitated, heel tapping listlessly at the floor and a hand fiddling with the mug in front of him. Grantaire takes one more moment to bask in the calm that precedes the storm before approaching the table.

“Hey.”

Enjolras jolts, apparently not expecting him and narrowly avoiding spilling tea everywhere. “Grantaire!” The man straightens in his seat, looking up to where Grantaire still stands. “I wasn’t—I didn’t—” He takes a deep breath. “Um. Please, sit. Have you ordered yet?”

Grantaire settles into the seat across from Enjolras, pulling off his hat and gloves and unzipping his jacket. “Yeah, they should be bringing it around when they get a minute.”

Enjolras nods, and Grantaire realizes that the man is flushed and pointedly avoiding eye-contact. 

He waits for the blond to volunteer another topic, and when it doesn’t come he begins speaking. “So um. Last night? I’m not really sure what...happened?”

He hears Enjolras take a deep breath before beginning. “I am sorry. Truly, honestly sorry. I had been...under the impression that you might be receptive, and I see now that not only was that an incorrect presumption, but it was also entirely unfair of me to go about that assumption without first conferring with you as to, um. The nature of. It.” 

It starts sounding rehearsed, but by the end the explanation sounds as if he’s aborted several possible endings and is expecting Grantaire to take over, which is very difficult when Grantaire finds himself utterly without words.

“Um.” He furrows his eyebrows in a pale imitation of thought; his brain is racing, and he couldn’t capture any one concept long enough to thoroughly process if he wanted to. “Can we, like. Break any of that down? Maybe I’m just being dense, but I’m confused.”

If Enjolras’s expression is anything to go off of, this might be the last thing he wants to do. “Okay. What are you...unclear on?”

He figures he’ll start with the easiest question. “Were you flirting with me last night? Like...is that what you were trying to do?”

The red is crawling up Enjolras’s neck once more. “Trying, yes,” he responds, a humorless laugh preceding pure discomfort.

“And that was...with me. You were trying to fli—to sext. With me. I was the intended recipient.”

A ragged inhale follows before the man responds. “Yes.”

“Why?”

The man rubs his face. “Courf had said—that is, I had thought. Um. That you might be open to it.”

It doesn’t answer his question, and Grantaire gets the distinct impression that the closer he gets to the heart of the problem, the further the answers are straying. “Enjolras, why did try to sext me?”

The blond shrugs helplessly. “Because I wanted to?”

But why would Enjolras want to? Grantaire has never made a secret of his sexual experience, true, but before him sits a man for whom sexuality is inextricably linked to feelings, and what Enjolras suggests makes no sense unless— 

“Do you like me? Is that what this is?”

In the face of a challenge, Enjolras always seems to grow a head taller and twice as fierce. Challenge pushes his eloquence to new tiers, and he seems only a half-step away from full-on godliness. Grantaire is sure that he’s never seen the man looking any more mortal than Enjolras does now, though, sinking down into his seat, nose reddening and eyes beginning to glisten.

“Enj, please, just. Just listen to me.” 

He doesn’t look up at Grantaire, but Grantaire gets the impression that the blond leader is waiting for him to speak.

“You haven’t done anything to upset me. I’m not _bothered_ by this—hell, I. I mean.” He quickly eschews the thought of exploring his own feelings in the face of the grander moment taking place. “But I was confused. This isn’t something we’ve talked about before, it wasn’t something I was really prepared for. And it just seemed really out of character for you, so I didn’t know how to react.”

He hears Enjolras taking shakey, even breaths at the other side of the table as the man nods. His expression is still drawn, but the redness is dying down, and Grantaire decides it might be okay to continue.

“Just to check in, this is what I’m hearing you say: you intended to sext me last night, and you did this because you like me. As more than a friend. Is that right?”

Enjolras winces, finally looking up. “Yes, but if you don’t want—”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire interrupts firmly. The man silences immediately, and he isn’t sure if he likes that or not. “Did you want to sext me, or was that you trying to ask me out without the formality of asking me out?”

The man grimaces. “Both? Can it be both?”

Grantaire’s chest opens up with the confirmation. The tension that’s been gripping his heart since last night finally releases, and he feels a smile spreading across his face as he releases a breathy laugh of disbelief. “Yes, Enjolras. Yes.”

Enjolras’s head jerks up, confusion and tentative hope written across his face. “Yes to...what? That it can be both?”

“Both. Yes to both.”

Several expressions flit across Enjolras’s face before settling on bewildered relief. “I don’t...I don’t understand? If you’re amenable, then why…”

Grantaire shrugs. “I’ve kind of been trying to put my feelings for you on the backburner for” Months. Years. “a while now, so you have to understand, without any sort of preface it was...kind of a lot to handle.”

“Right, yes. Of course.”

“So...if it’s cool to ask...why _did_ you do it...that way?”

Enjolras huffs. “In his defense, Courf definitely told me to ask you out directly.”

Holy shit, Enjolras was asking his friends for advice about _Grantaire_.

“But I...I guess I wanted to test the waters first? Without having to commit? Which was...ill-advised, at best.”

Grantaire grimaces. “Yeah, I don’t imagine my lack of reception was too much better than an outright rejection.”

Enjolras’s mouth twists into a satire of a smile. “It, ah. Wasn’t.”

Grantaire’s coffee arrives then, and he takes a grateful sip of it as he gathers his thoughts. “So I suppose we’re doing this, then?”

A nervous smile breaks across Enjolras’s face. “I mean. If you’re not opposed, then uh. Yes?”

“ _Definitely_ not opposed,” he emphasizes. He can’t stop grinning at the man, and under the table he hooks an ankle behind one of Enjolras’s feet, pulling it closer. “What’re you doing after this?” Is it too soon? Perhaps, but he’s not the one who tried to start a relationship via sext.

“It would seem that my plans to mope around the apartment in shame and embarrassment have been cancelled, so...nothing?”

“What would your feelings be on catching whatever morning matinee is showing in theaters, followed by lunch?”

“Generally positive,” the man grins back.

“Now see? Isn’t that better than a random sextual encounter?”

Enjolras shrugs, and apparently all of his casual confidence has made its return. “Not sure I’d say that the two have to be mutually exclusive.” 

Grantaire’s mouth opens then closes. He stares at the man across from his in speechless silence another moment before downing his coffee and trying again. “My shift begins at five, so this movie had better be a short one.”

Enjolras laughs, finishes his tea, and stands. “We’d best be going then.”

 

—-

 

Grantaire is fairly certain his shift should have ended ages ago, but a glance at his watch informs him that he still has two more hours before he clocks out. The bookstore’s been mostly quiet all evening, and he’s been trying to settle into his book for several minutes when his phone goes off. 

Double-checking that there are indeed no customers, he checks his latest text.

 

[21:23] **confirmed has wanked to The Social Contract:** what time r u done  
[21:24] **You:** 11:30, why?  
[21:25] **confirmed has wanked to The Social Contract:** _[photo attached]_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courfeyrac's conversation with Enjolras.

Courfeyrac has barely settled down for his post-dinner movie plans when he hears the knock at the door. It really would be much more convenient if his friends adopted his approach to visiting and let themselves in if they’re comfortable enough to be using his building code, but Courfeyrac is a martyr and a saint, and as such he rises to his feet to greet whoever it is face-to-face (and avoid inviting in another pair of Jehovah’s Witnesses).

Opening the door brings him face-to-face with Enjolras, a much more surprising visitor than JW’s would have been. “Did I forget something?” His friend almost never comes over unannounced, and a quick glance tells him that he hasn’t missed any texts.

“Oh, yes, right. I should have—” The blond takes a deep breath before starting again. “I need your help seducing someone.”

 _My time has come._ “Step into my office.”

‘His office’ is actually his living room, but Enjolras doesn’t bother pointing this out for the two thousand-first time, which Courfeyrac considers a victory as he settles down beside his friend on the couch.

“So. What do you need to know?”

Enjolras clears his throat. “Well, I suppose. Um. I’d like to gauge interest in a sexual relationship. I don’t need sex tips,” he is quick to clarify, to Courfeyrac’s disappointment, “but I am not entirely certain how to go about this.”

Flexing his fingers and cracking exactly three joints, Courfeyrac pulls a leg up on the couch to face his friend head-on. “‘Gauge interest’?” he repeats, amused. Of course Enjolras would want to scope out a situation before committing.

“I’d rather not strike out in-person.”

“You want sexting advice.” A toothy grin widens across his face as the understanding settles in. “Oh Enj, you really are growing up.”

“‘Growing up’ implies that sexual activity is essential to maturity and living a whole and fulfilling—”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Courfeyrac concedes. “I just never imagined the day would come that I would be giving you sexting advice!!”

He expects Enjolras’s expression to reflect regret, but instead he sees only determination and the remnants of the deep flush the blond had worn when he first appeared at Courfeyrac’s doorway. “At this rate, I’m beginning to have my own doubts the day will ever come.”

“Ooh, we _are_ eager, aren’t we?” Courfeyrac pulls out his phone and begins scrolling through his texts. “Normally you’ll start with something pretty blunt, but it sounds like you have someone in mind?”

His face deepens a shade, but Enjolras gives a determined nod nevertheless.

It won’t do either of them any good for Courfeyrac to push him on the subject. “Awesome. In that case, you have two options: direct approach or slow seduction.”

“Which do you think is better?”

Courfeyrac shrugs. “Depends what you’re going for: if it’s a quick thing where they probably won’t care or ever see you again, you just send a pick-up line or a pic.”

Enjolras’s eyebrows knit together. “Such as?”

“Oh, just. ‘Wanna fuck?’ or ‘I’m really turned on right now’ or ‘I want your cock so far down my throat that I make the news for a ruptured airway.’”

The corners of Enjolras’s mouth are turned downward as he shifts uncomfortably on the sofa. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Oh, it is,” Courfeyrac corrects, “but more importantly, that line lands nine times in ten, _so.”_

Brows raising, Enjolras nods and pulls out his phone, quickly typing something. _Is he taking notes?_ “And by ‘pic’ I assume you mean ‘dick pic’?”

“Well, yeah.” It suddenly dawns on him the context in which this conversation is taking place, and the thought of Enjolras, _Enjolras,_ this demisexual butterfly spreading his sexting wings for the first time in an attempt to seduce someone _he actually likes_ with a _dick pic_ drives a spike of horror through Courfeyrac’s heart. “But—but where’s the seduction? The romance? The _panache?”_ Courfeyrac shakes his head. “Enjolras, you have a lot going on here, and to limit yourself to only your genitals would be the greatest disservice you could do all involved parties—and I’m an involved party here. Do you want to do me a disservice?” 

“I really don’t see how—” 

“No dick pics.” 

“Fine.”

After a moment’s consideration, he adds, “Not at first, anyway.”

More typing: definitely taking notes.

“Anyway, I think in your case the ‘slow seduction’ method’s gonna prove more effective. That one’s more like…a gradual suggestion.”

A cocked eyebrow. “I see.”

“No you don’t.”

“Not remotely.”

“It’s like…setting the scene. ‘Where are you?’ ‘Are you alone?’”

“Courf, that sounds creepy.”

“It’s scene-setting!” he insists. “So like, if they’re not in a sexy setting—”

“And what exactly qualifies as a ‘sexy setting’?” 

“Alone, preferably in a bed without clothing.”

“Ah.” Enjolras nods again, coloring slightly. “That is—I see your point. Okay.”

“So if they’re not, you kinda set the mood yourself: ‘Oh, well I’m alone in my room in wearing a lacy thong.’”

Enjolras looks like he wants to say something but evidently (and probably wisely) decides against it. “Okay, so I ask leading questions about where he is and if he’s alone and…and what he’s wearing.” _So it’s a ‘he.’_ “And if he’s not playing into the answers I want, then I…set the example for the type of answer I’m looking for?”

“Exactly!” Courfeyrac cheers, politely refraining from commenting further as Enjolras once more hunches over his phone to tap out more notes, looking rather pleased with himself. 

“What do I do after that?”

“Well, once you know that the mood has been set, you start talking about what you’d do if the other person was there. Y’know, sexy things.” Courfeyrac grins slyly. “Do you need some start-up lines?”

Flushing, Enjolras quickly shakes his head. “No, no, I’ve. I think I’ve got that part.”

Yeah _he does._

Pausing in his notes, Enjolras looks up at Courfeyrac suddenly. “But what if—what if he doesn’t reciprocate?”

Courfeyrac shrugs. “He might not get it, in which case you get more explicit until he does; alternatively, you accept that he’s not into you and move on.” 

Nodding, Enjolras types a final line before reclining back into the couch. He sighs deeply before freezing, eyes startling open. “I may have been sexted before.”

“I am zero percent surprised.”

“Should I apologize?”

“Unless it happened literally earlier today, it’d be far worse to bring up now that it’s passed and they’re over it. If they didn’t ask to discuss it, you’re probably fine.”

Enjolras’s lips purse. “What if my pers—the person I text. What if he isn’t interested?”

Extremely unlikely, but it would be an injustice to Enjolras to deny him his contingency plans. “Then he isn’t interested, and you don’t sext with him.”

“Should I tell him my…intentions?” 

_You are as subtle as a shovel to the skull._

“You are as subtle as a shovel to the skull,” he repeats aloud. “No one is going to miss your intentions, promise—especially not if you do what I told you.” Kicking his feet up over Enjolras’s lap as his friend falls back into the couch again, Courfeyrac leans his head back over the arm of the sofa. They’re both calm now, and the hardest part is over, so if ever there was a time to ask— “Out of curiosity, though, who is this special someone who has your stomach aflutter and your loins a-tingling?”

“Mm? Oh, it’s Grantaire.”

A screeching brakes sound-effect would be extremely appropriate right now. “Grantaire?”

This is not the time to panic. Well, it is, but he can’t do so in front of Enjolras, not now that he’s taken his first steps into The Wonderful World of Sexting. Still, his world-weary brother-in-arms has only just started down the road to self-improvement and mental health and trying to get over their fiery leader in red: of all the people for Enjolras specifically to spring sexting onto, Grantaire is by far Not It.

“I know we haven’t always gotten along,” Enjolras is already explaining, “but he’s mellowed out a lot in the past few months and is a genuinely interesting person to talk with now that he’s not drunk all the time, and…I don’t know. I like him.” 

How can Courfeyrac put this in a way that won’t totally out Grantaire’s massive multi-year infatuation and the inevitable denial that will play into anything less than absolutely clear communication between the two of them? “I…don’t think sexting Grantaire is a good idea.”

Bad choice: Enjolras bolts upright from his lounging position. “Why? Did he say something?”

He’s behind on his phone bill. A dog ate his phone. A rare skin condition prevents him from interacting with anything electrical. A freak technological accident killed his entire family, and he has since taken vows to join the Older Order Amish. 

“I, uh. I think he…”

Bad sexting experience. Bad sex experience. Bad gay experience. Lifelong vow of celibacy.

The blond’s eyebrows are raised in that expectant way they get sometimes.

Would Enjolras believe him if he said Grantaire died recently?

“I’m not sure he’d be into sexting with someone without, like, um. Knowing them first?”

The blond’s nose wrinkles in confusion. “Grantaire has one-night stands all the time, I don’t see the problem.”

Courfeyrac gives his friend a plaintive look. “Do you want a one-night stand with Grantaire?”

Enjolras’s head tilts side-to-side as he considers this, expression growing more reluctant as he does. “No,” he admits at last.

“Exactly.” Shaking his head, he makes a decision. “If you talk to him first, I really think you’ll find that he’s amenable, but…please, Enj, use your mouth-words. You can do this.”

Enjolras makes a noise that doesn’t quite sound like assent, and Courfeyrac knows that the discussion is over. 

“So…feelings on Netflix-and-Platonic-Chill?” 

 

—-

 

_Two weeks later_

[19.47] **Enjy-baby:** _[photo attached]_  
[19.48] **Enjy-baby:** omg im so sry tht wsnt 4 u  
[19.52] **You:** asdfdghjkl I should hope not  
[19.53] **You:** I may have spoken too soon when I told u that reducing urself to ur genitals was a disservice tho  
[19.53] **You:** u have a gift that must be shared w the masses  
[19.53] **Enjy-baby:** pls stop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Legends only](https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/6802327/oral-sex-injury-well-hung-rupture-airway/). (same NSFW rating as this fic)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras's sexting adventure.

It takes a few more days of studying, rehearsing, and building up his nerve before Enjolras finally commits to making his move following their next meeting.

The meeting itself is fine, and Enjolras manages to fight through his nervous excitement well enough to argue immigration to a stalemate with Grantaire. This in itself is no small feat and deserves to be celebrated—the ‘how’ of the celebration has already been determined, and his phone burns where it sits in his pocket. 

Unfortunately, the stalemate does result in the meeting running late, most of the members having already abandoned their gathering or leaving immediately after its close. Enjolras had already promised that he’d touch base with M Hucheloup following tonight’s session, so he’s forced to leave clean-up to Grantaire, Combeferre, and Bossuet in order to keep that appointment. By the time they’ve finished speaking, the room is already closed, and Combeferre is waiting to return to their flat— 

Which is how Enjolras finds himself awake at 11 at night and waiting for a response to a text he’d sent forty-minutes minutes earlier. He and Combeferre had left at 10, but his flatmate had informed him that Grantaire was still helping Musichetta around the café—a normally extremely attractive quality that is currently only serving to make him more anxious. Candles have been retrieved, lit, and put out at least three times now; he has spent entirely too long reflecting on whether or not it’s appropriate to be wearing old sweatpants for what he hopes is a night of steamy texting; and he is having major second-thoughts on the picture he’d snapped the night before as a contingency plan and had already gotten (reluctantly) approved by Courfeyrac before today’s meeting began.

So really, when Grantaire’s text finally comes at half after eleven, it’s hardly an overreaction to dive onto his bed with enough force to earn two knocks from the wall he shares with Combeferre.

“I’m fine!” he calls, a lie if he’s ever told one.

Oh God, should he be worrying about Combeferre hearing him?

No.

Yes?

No. Their apartment is nicer than most, nice enough that they truly have to shout to be heard in the next room over.

(or dive onto their beds with all of the catastrophic force of someone about to do something really, _really_ nerve-wracking)

 

[23:34] **Grantaire:** np

 

After over an hour of waiting, it’s as anticlimactic a response as they come. Squinting, he looks up to see what he’d sent prior to warrant such a response.

Right: the chairs. Riveting.

 

[23:35] **You:** where r u now

 

Just like he practiced. To his delight, the response is immediate.

 

[23:35] **Grantaire:** Just got back.  
[23:36] **You:** so late?  
[23:36] **You:** did sumthing happen

 

Wait, shit, no. He has a plan.

 

[23:37] **You:** r u alone

 

Nailed it.

 

[23:39] **Grantaire:** Got caught up helping Muse s’all  
[23:39] **Grantaire:** Baz is here, no worries

 

Well that’s no good. 

 

[23:41] **You:** i see  
[23:41] **You:** im in bed

 

He’s _on_ his bed, but it’s a nuance easily remedied as he pulls the covers over himself and settles against his carefully-arranged stack of pillows. The minutes following trickle by slowly enough that he starts conferring once more with his notes. Privacy, suggestive location, provocative clothing: he’s exactly on-track.

 

[23:44] **Grantaire:** Yeah, it’s pretty late, I guess I should be following your lead lol  
[23:45] **You:** i dont think im going 2 sleep yet  
[23:45] **You:** not tired

 

Hah, who’s as subtle as a shovel to the head _now,_ Courfeyrac? Enjolras is the democratically-elected representative head of subtlety. 

 

[23:46] **Grantaire:** Well, being in bed is always a good start  
[23:46] **You:** r u in bed  
[23:47] **Grantaire:** Nah, still eating dinner

 

Enjolras’s eyes widen.

 

[23:48] **You:** omg im so sorry  
[23:48] **You:** i didnt realize  
[23:48] **You:** pls focus on eating

 

Grantaire is probably laughing at him, and Enjolras is suddenly too antsy to continue sitting in bed. Pacing his room, he officially decides to relight the candles, turn out the overheads, and shed his t-shirt (but keep the sweatpants—no point getting overeager, especially at the rate that this conversation is moving); he is back under the covers contemplating how he can rearrange his room so that the other side of his bed is more easily accessible when he finally gets a response.

 

[23:55] **Grantaire:** Just finished  
[23:55] **Grantaire:** Is there a time range after which it stops being dinner?  
[23:56] **Grantaire:** It feels like there should be some sort of in-between for that space between “dinner” and “breakfast”  
[23:56] **Grantaire:** Brinner?

 

Why is this the man he’s attracted to?

 

[23:56] **You:** i think ur meant 2 sleep during that time  
[23:57] **You:** so r u in ur room  
[23:57] **Grantaire:** Not altogether untrue, though certainly classist propaganda  
[23:58] **Grantaire:** lol yeah  
[23:58] **Grantaire:** Probably gonna be up for a while tho, have some things to do yet

 

It’s bait for what is sure to be a really satisfying debate, but Enjolras forces himself to resist in the name of a higher cause.

 

[23:59] **You:** what r u wearing

 

Electricity thrums under his skin: this is what he’s been waiting for, the indisputable step beyond ‘concerned friend’ and into proper flirting territory.

 

[00:01] **Grantaire:** Just my street clothes  
[00:01] **Grantaire:** Guess I should be putting on pjs soon

 

Closing his eyes, he sighs. This is _not_ what he’d outlined in his notebook.

 

[00:02] **You:** i just go w out

 

Hopefully that goes over slightly better. While he awaits the response, his mind turns to his attire: according to his texts, he is currently not wearing sweatpants, a thing which he is definitely still wearing. Should he not wear sweatpants? Is that a thing he should be doing right now? 

He decides to keep them on. If Grantaire does ask for a photo, he’ll have more than enough time to remedy the situation.

 

[00:04] **Grantaire:** Cool beans  
[00:04] **Grantaire:** I’m in my pjs now  
[00:05] **You:** pic?

 

Oh God, he’s sweating. Is that normal? Is it gross? Probably not. It shouldn’t be, it’s a natural physical reaction, but he just asked for a _picture,_ and as the loading symbol swirls every possible reaction for what it could be appears before him, like so many figs on a tree: What kind of pajamas does Grantaire wear? Two-piece? Bottoms? 

Is it possible that he’s following Enjolras’s supposed lead?

The fig is ultimately plucked for him, and Enjolras finds himself fighting a smile as he looks at the photo. It’s not sexy at all, the man in black joggers and a soft-looking grey t-shirt with a goofy expression and a thumbs-up. It’s cuter than any picture Enjolras has of him…but he needs to stay focused. 

 

[00:07] **You:** ur pants  
[00:07] **You:** nike?  
[00:09] **Grantaire:** Good eye, yeah  
[00:10] **You:** nike is terrible to their employees nd not sustainable at all  
[00:10] **You:** u shouldnt wear their stuff

 

Enjolras takes a deep breath. He can do this.

 

[00:12] **You:** take them off

 

He’s getting into shovel territory, he can feel it, but Grantaire is demonstrating shovel-appropriate density.

 

[00:14] **Grantaire:** They’re hand-me-downs, it’s a sunk cost  
[00:15] **Grantaire:** Besides, I only wear them to bed, so they don’t even get the free advertising

 

Dead end. 

It occurs to Enjolras that Grantaire is being intentionally obtuse, but Courfeyrac had said that he’d probably be amenable. 

(it’s in his notes)

Of course, Courfeyrac had also expressly told him to talk with Grantaire in advance, which is obviously terrible advice, so what does he know anyway?

 

[00:16] **You:** what would u do if i was there rn  
[00:17] **Grantaire:** Well I’m working on a commission atm  
[00:17] **Grantaire:** So probably keep doing that

 

Biting his lip, he’s preparing to accept that maybe Courfeyrac does know literally anything when— 

 

[00:18] **Grantaire:** Wbu haha

 

_I’m in._

 

[00:19] **You:** its pretty cold here so prob try to find some way 2 get warm  
[00:21] **Grantaire:** We have lots of blankets here

 

He’s…not in?

 

[00:21] **Grantaire:** Alternatively, you could put on pajamas ;)

 

Winky-face means flirting: he's in.

 

[00:22] **You:** i actually find that id rather not ;)  
[00:24] **Grantaire:** Well I mean, that’s all I’ve got  
[00:25] **You:** i might have another idea

 

His pulse is beating in his ears as he awaits the response: he can’t get much more explicit than this without outright stating his intentions, which is the whole point in doing the ‘slow seduction’ over ‘direct approach.’

Still, as one minute turns to two, which grows to five and then ten after that, Enjolras begins to grow truly and properly anxious. He and Combeferre don’t talk about sex, and after Courfeyrac had warned him against exactly what he is currently doing, Enjolras can’t in good conscience go to him.

_Fifteen minutes,_ he tells himself. _Fifteen minutes._

In the days leading up to this moment, Enjolras had gone back and forth on whether it would be better to be let down easy with no definitive answer or to have it made clear. Before now he’d leaned toward being able to feasibly pretend that the whole thing had never happened, but in this moment he wants nothing more than a direct answer.

 

[00.40] **You:** _[photo attached]_

 

It’s not a dick pic, but it’s certainly enough that if Grantaire plays dumb about his intentions then Enjolras will already have his answer. 

 

[00:42] **Grantaire:** Haha I’m guessing that wasn’t for me?  
[00:42] **Grantaire:** lol  
[00:42] **Grantaire:** I deleted it from my phone no worries  
[00:43] **Grantaire:** Won’t tell anyone

 

Enjolras stares numbly at the texts. Putting down his phone, he throws up the covers and moves to blow out the candles, finding his shirt from the floor and pulling it back over his head before sullenly crawling back under the covers in the darkness of his room.

_Well, at least he won’t tell anyone._

Swallowing hard, he looks back through their texts, through his desperate passes at a man who, on review, was clearly trying to shut him down at every turn.

 

~~**You:** sorry 4 btherng u~~  
~~**You:** ty 4 being patient w me i cnt~~  
~~**You:** pls rupture my airway ~~

 

[00:55] **You:** good night grantaire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But as y'all know, it ultimately has a happy ending. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this please comment below or reach out at my [tumblr](http://shitpostingfromthebarricade.tumblr.com). :)


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